


No Ordinary Love

by 51stCenturyFox



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Community: avengerkink, Cracky Premise, F/M, Fluff, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderfuck, Humor, M/M, Natasha and Tony friendship, Other, Romantic Comedy, Smut, Spells & Enchantments, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/51stCenturyFox/pseuds/51stCenturyFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on Avengerkink.</p><p>Thanks to a magical spell by invading aliens from another realm, Tony Stark becomes a woman...for three months. </p><p>  <i>Obviously there's no way he's not going to take his new body for a test drive. And who better to help him with it that our very own Captain America, Steve Rogers, the straighter-than-a-ruler guy he's been falling in love with totally against his will and who's finally noticing him now...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be a romp, not any sort of serious gender role commentary, obviously.
> 
> ...I can't seem to stop myself from writing a sex- or bodyswap story in every fandom ever. :)

"A spell? A fucking _magical spell_ turned me into a woman?" Tony barked, and Thor jumped.

"It was not my spell," Thor pointed out. "Shouting at me will do no good...Miss Stark."

"Ms," Tony snapped. "Fuck! Mr! Tony! For god's sake!" From the waist down he was still clad in the Mark VII armor he'd summoned for the battle. From the waist up he was wearing his helmet and the repulsor gloves along with a snug black t-shirt, because the chestplate fit poorly over his new breasts, and he'd had to pop off the shell. 

"I was merely demonstrating respect," Thor grumbled. He still called Pepper Ms Potts despite her insistence on "Oh, just Pepper, please." He called Natasha...Natasha, because she'd made her request in a more convincing manner.

"Give him the other news," Clint said, setting down his quiver and propping a boot up on the debris-covered armrest in the wrecked theatre.

Thor nodded slowly. "While you were unconscious, we successfully brokered an agreement with our nemesis. In exchange for a truce and a concession, the spell has been made temporary."

Tony eyed his teammates and folded his arms. It was more difficult than usual. There were obstacles. "How temporary? And what concession?"

"We agreed not to invade their realm," Clint said. "Which, you know, was not a very big concession because we don't invade realms. And we let them live, which kind of was. Also, they agreed not to tear any more holes between dimensions. Big win."

Tony kicked the remains of a shattered spotlight out of his way with an iron-booted foot. "How temporary?" he repeated.

"Three moons!" Thor declared.

"Three moons," Tony repeated flatly. "Three _months_? Three Earth months, am I right?"

Thor nodded again.

"Then what happens?"

"Then you will be returned safely to your original form," Thor explained, as if Tony was a bit slow. "It's a three-moon spell." 

"No duh," Clint said, raising his hands defensively when he saw Tony ball his armored fists and lean towards him. "Sorry! Sorry, Tony. I wouldn't joke, but you're okay. It's temporary. I won't..." Clint shook his head, because he couldn't promise not to joke about this for three months. Really, that was asking way too much.

"That's terrible negotiating," Tony spat out. "Couldn't you have held out for a three-hour spell or something?"

"A three hour spell would have been impossible," Thor said, shaking his head.

"We actually didn't get off too badly," Clint said. "They almost had us a couple of times. They were tough. I mean, at least we all made it out safe, and so did Broadway. 41st Street is in pretty bad shape, though. Steve and Natasha are out there pulling people out of cars."

Bruce cleared his throat and adjusted the piece of black stage curtain he was wearing as a makeshift toga. "Could be worse, Tony. Some changes don't wear off."

Tony paused. "That's actually...a good point, Socrates," he muttered. He hefted his chest armor. "I'm going to go alter a suit." He began walking back to the street entrance, and the others watched him retreat.

"He's actually pretty," Clint said. "It's weird, but I think I'm a little turned-on right now."

"Don't ever tell him that," Bruce said. "Shit, where's my wallet?"

* * *

Tony sequestered himself in his workshop, doffed the armor, and began modelling the new suit pieces in 3D form. He scanned himself, then expanded the chestplate and made adjustments to the boots and the length of the arm and leg armor, because he was shorter -- just slightly. And his current suit was too big in the waist. AD HOC TEMPLATE, Tony typed, with unnecessary force. "Temporary," he muttered to himself. "Three. Fucking. _Moons_."

JARVIS was suspiciously quiet.

"JARVIS!" Tony shouted.

"Sir?" JARVIS replied calmly.

"Well, that's a relief. You recognize me. What, no greeting this evening?"

"I was processing an extensive tasklist, Mr Stark."

"Which takes a couple of nanoseconds. So what do you make of this?" Tony gestured at himself and swiped a palm over his chin, which was so...smooth. That probably made him feel less like himself than anything else, like the time he'd shaved for charity because Twitter had raised a million dollars for pandas with mange or something.

"Sir," JARVIS intoned. "You appear to have undergone sex reassignment surgery and a complete hormone replacement, which according to my databanks would be impossible to accomplish over the course of five hours. In addition, you haven't previously expressed a desire to undergo a procedure of this type, and I was attempting to make sense of..."

"It's magic, JARVIS. It makes no sense, so don't bother," Tony drained the last of his espresso. "Also, the shock stage is rolling into denial and I think I don't really want to talk about this."

"Agent Romanoff is approaching the lab, Mr Stark," JARVIS replied.

"Great," Tony said into the dreggy cup. He wondered where Cap was. He hadn't seen him since the battle. He knew his status, which was fine, but...

The door slid open and Natasha's boots tapped a staccato rhythm across the floor. As she approached, the tapping slowed. "Holy smokes," Natasha breathed. "They weren't pulling our legs."

Tony nodded and spread his arms wide. "All me, baby," he said, as Natasha gave him a slow once-over. His hair was the same -- short and shaggy since he'd been between haircuts, his shirt fit a bit snugly over his curves, the now-baggy jeans he'd thrown on were tied with a length of cable and cuffed once, and he was barefoot.

"You could use a pedicure," she said, "and an eyebrow shaping."

"I could use a drink."

Natasha squinted at him. "But you don't look bad as a woman. You have a very nice bone structure and a bit of a winsome pout."

"Thank you," Tony pursed his lips experimentally, pressing his fingers against them. He hadn't done more than glance into a shiny monitor surface. It wasn't like the public was going to see him in a press conference anyway.

"How do you feel?"

"The same," Tony said with a shrug. "I feel exactly the same."

"Well, that's good. Three months, Clint said?" Natasha tapped her fingernails along a workbench.

"Yeah," Tony rotated the 3D model and exploded the layers. "I'll have this suit up and running in...oh, 48 hours."

"The team understands if you want to keep a low profile for the duration," Natasha ventured.

"Oh no. Oh _hell_ no," Tony said. "I'm surprised to hear that from you, of all people, Natasha."

"It's not because you're a woman, you idiot," Natasha sniffed. "It's because this is a very unusual circumstance." 

Tony cocked his head. "I'm staying in action. But I'm keeping a low profile out of armor, for obvious reasons." He'd been thinking about this as he worked.

"You need clothes that fit you," Natasha said.

"Yeah, can I borrow--"

"No," Natasha cut him off. "...but I'll take you to pick some things out in the morning."

"Can't I just order some stuff online?"

Natasha planted her hands on her hips. "Sure. What cup size bra do you wear? How about pants?"

Tony looked down. "26 waist? Uh...medium?"

Natasha clucked. "Nobody will recognize you, trust me. We'll get you outfitted, but it's Browhaus first for a thread-and-tweeze. I really must insist."

"Sounds awful," Tony rolled his shoulders and focused his attention on the armor model.

"See you at nine sharp," Natasha said, giving Tony's shoulder a brief parting pat as he nodded absently.

Tony realized he was starving and had to pee like a racehorse. Piss break first, then he'd order in. Chinese sounded good. He made for the workshop's bathroom and unzipped his fly before realization dawned. "Oh, goddammit," he groused, and fumbled with the tightly-cinched cable knot holding up his jeans, shifting from foot-to-foot. Finally he got it unfastened, dropped his jeans, and sank to the toilet in relief.

"Something else to get used to," he said. He patted himself dry gingerly with a too-large wad of toilet paper, trying not to think too much about his lack of dick, and retied his makeshift belt, then washed his hands. Finally, he stepped back and surveyed his reflection in the mirror. "Hmm." Tony leaned in closer and saw what Natasha meant about the eyebrows -- they looked a little bushy. He sucked in his cheeks. "Winsome pout. Huh." He guessed he'd come out pretty decent-looking. He'd probably bang himself, he thought, and let out a soft cackle. "Not that I haven't, technically."

He lifted up his shirt and checked out his...breasts. Well, there they were, on either side of the arc reactor. He brushed the side of his hand against a nipple and sucked in a breath. That felt nice, as expected, but it had felt nice before. He palmed a breast delicately and closed his eyes. Maybe if it was someone else's hand it would be...his thoughts went to one particular person, who hadn't actually seen him yet like this.... "Okay, no, this is too weird, even for me," he said, pulling his shirt back down.

"Three months." Tony gave a low whistle and asked JARVIS to order him some slippery chicken from Shun Lee.

* * *

Tony's eye sockets throbbed. "That sucked," he told Natasha, as she pulled him forward in the salon's lobby.

"We suffer for beauty," she replied smugly, then frowned at him and rummaged through her clutch bag and came out with a tube. "Hold still."

"Oh no, I'm not wearing makeup," Tony shook his head vehemently.

"Shut up. It's just lip gloss. There's sunscreen in it." 

Natasha sounded stern, so Tony obeyed. "Well, that feels okay," he said.

"I know," Natasha replied, showing him how to roll his lips together. "I know...best."

"If Pepper was here..." Tony began.

"If Pepper wasn't in Hong Kong on business she'd be laughing her ass off," Natasha said. 

"No, she wouldn't," Tony said, wounded.

"No, she'd be bringing you food in your work cave for the next three months and laughing her ass off when she was out of your sight."

Natasha knew exactly where to go for underwear and bras and did the fitting herself in a dressing room (it wouldn't do for a fitter to see the reactor) "Let's just do mostly practical ones and two _nice_ ones just in case," which was both utterly awkward and slightly arousing for Tony, and then he was outfitted with new jeans and a few pairs of trousers in nearby shops.

"How do you live with these pathetic excuses for pockets?" Tony complained, and Natasha waved her clutch purse. "Oh yeah." He insisted on boots, "Okay, but just a small heel," -- acknowledging that he actually wore heeled boots all the time anyway -- and sneakers, along with a pile of t-shirts and some pullover sweaters. "That's enough," Tony said, and they headed for an Italian place after handing the bags to Happy, who resolutely didn't smirk as he stowed them in the trunk of the car and arranged to pick them up after lunch.

When they walked past some mouthy construction workers on their break, it took every ounce of concentration Tony had -- and Natasha's firm grip on his forearm-- to stop himself from getting into a fight. "Those assholes," he fumed.

"Low profile, remember?" Natasha said.

"Does this happen to you all the time?"

"Yeah, and it's not worth mopping the sidewalk with these creeps," she said. "Save your energy for saving the world."

 

Back at Stark Tower, Tony decided to take a _real_ shower. He'd washed up last night, half-dead from exhaustion, but he figured he'd scrub up before putting on the new clothes.

"Don't forget to shave your legs," Natasha called down the hallway in his apartment.

"Wait," Tony said, hands against the sides of the doorway."Isn't that antifeminist?"

"Not if it's your choice. Do whatever you want," she replied, waving a hand. "You didn't buy any dresses anyway. Chicken."

Tony rolled his eyes, retreated, and turned the water up to hot, selecting some supplies from the cabinet. He shampooed his hair and rinsed it out, soaped up, and grabbed a razor. "Fine," he said to himself, because he was not, in fact, a chicken, and he resented the inference, and then, "Ow, shit!" while navigating the curve of an armpit. "Might as well go all the way, right?" He sat on a ledge in the shower, grabbed the shaving cream, and slathered his legs. "Jesus Christ!" he grumbled after nicking his ankle, tinting the drips of white foam pink. "Suffering is right."

Finishing up, he tapped the razor on the ledge and stood, looking down at his crotch. "Oh, fuck no," Tony said. "I have my limits."

Tony rinsed off, adjusting the shower for full spray from all directions, and let the water sluice over his body and wash off the last traces of soap and shaving cream. He slid a hand down between his legs to rinse, and jumped a little at the sensation. "Mmm. Well." He'd have to explore this later, but first, team debrief this afternoon, and he had three fucking months, after all. He dried off and smoothed lotion on his legs, then styled his hair as usual, examining his reflection again as a tap came at the door.

"You're slow as hell, Stark," Natasha said from the hallway.

"Calm your tits, Tash," Tony replied.

"You're still not allowed to say that to me. Either of those things, actually."

"Sorry. _Natasha_."

"Open the door."

Tony wrapped a towel around his waist, then shifted it up to his armpits, and let her in. Natasha raised a brow at him and dropped a small fabric pouch on the counter. "Sit," she ordered, and Tony decided it was pointless to argue with her; if she wanted to doll him up, she could knock herself out. Maybe she'd always wanted a sister. She seemed to be enjoying herself, and he kind of owed her for not laughing at him and for getting him bras. He shrugged and sat on a bench where he could see them both in the mirror.

"Look up," she said, and leaned over him as she penciled eyeliner in a careful line around each of his eyes then dabbed and smudged with her pinky, as he tried not to blink. "Good boy. Now for mascara." She proceeded to coat his lashes, and then handed him a tube. "You can do this. Just put it on your lips, it's easy." He did, and Natasha leaned in again and surveyed Tony's work.

"Isn't this gender-essentialist or something like that?" Tony asked

"Oh my god, did you actually pay attention to Women's Studies class in college?" Natasha blinked.

"Not really. Hey, you smell fantastic. Do you ever do chicks?" Tony asked, and was answered with a slap to the back of his head. "Hey! I just did my hair."

"You're not allowed to ask me that either," Natasha answered.

"Come on, you measured me for a bra," Tony parried back, "...there was some groping involved." But all she did was straighten up and push the items she'd used along the counter, pointedly ignoring him.

"These are all new, so they're yours. Don't share makeup, not that anybody's going to be borrowing your stash. If you need more, I'll hook you up."

"I don't think I need _this_ makeup," Tony pointed out, but he had to admit that the thin line circling his eyes and the mascara made them stand out, and his lips glowed a soft, transparent shade of pale rose. "Hey, my lips match my nipples. Sexy."

"Don't tell Clint that," Natasha warned.

Tony smirked. He thought he would make a special point of telling Clint that, actually.

"Red lipstick would be fantastic with the suit," Natasha said.

"Let's not get carried away." Tony waved her out and went to his room, where he found a black bra and ripped off the tags, then put it on with a little difficulty. It was more awkward than it looked when he'd watched countless girlfriends do this. He pulled a v-necked black sweater over his head and sat to don one of the snug new pairs of jeans. He slipped on socks and zipped up his black boots, stood up, and checked himself out in the full-length mirror from the front and sideways, then sneaked a parting look over his shoulder.

"You, my dear, have a damn fine booty," Tony said, giving it a little shake before he pushed up his sleeves and headed out for the meeting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***chapter note***
> 
> This story is based on an Avengerkink prompt; the basic premise, main character reactions, and relationship are written to fit the prompter's wishes.

No one had made their way to the conference area yet, so Tony headed for the kitchen, where he saw Cap standing in front of the Sub-Zero, selecting a bottle of juice. He felt his heart beat a little faster, because if anybody in Stark Tower could be said to have a damn fine booty, Steve Rogers was definitely exhibit A.

"Hey, stealing my food, Cap?" Tony asked, as he grabbed the edge of the door and leaned in to grab a Greek yogurt. Steve's head swiveled and he promptly fumbled the plastic bottle against his chest, then dropped it on the floor. "Nice reflexes, super soldier," Tony said, yanking the lid off a pot of yogurt and grabbing a spoon. He leaned back against the breakfast bar.

"Tony?" Steve gasped, his mouth hanging open.

"Tell me about it, _stud_ ," Tony said, making the sexiest face he could manage before grimacing. "Oh, sorry. Shit, you haven't seen Grease, have you?"

Steve shook his head.

"It's a movie; never mind." Tony was discovering that the spoon was sticking to the lipgloss, so turned it sideways and licked instead. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Surprise. Thought you had all the dirty details by now."

Steve coughed into his fist and picked up the juice bottle."I knew that you'd been, um, affected. But I didn't...I didn't think..." Steve squinted at Tony, clearly at a loss for the right words.

"Didn't think I'd clean up this well?" Tony smiled, licking the spoon again as Steve ran a hand through his hair and then stared at the orange juice in his hand like he'd forgotten what orange juice was.

"Um. I thought you'd still have a goatee," he blurted out.

"Now that would just be strange," Tony pointed out drily.

Steve nodded slowly as Tony turned and headed for the meeting spot. "I'll be right there," he called out after Tony.

 

Tony perched on the corner of the sofa facing the window, one boot crossed over his knee, Natasha chose a chair, Thor another, and Bruce the other end of the sofa. Tony noticed that everyone except for Natasha was studiously trying not to look his way, barring one tiny kind smile from Bruce, and realized that they were trying not to make him feel like a circus freak, so he relaxed a little. Maybe Natasha had laid down the law. Clint sauntered in and grabbed the swivel chair with the headrest that Steve liked, and finally Steve joined the group.

"I see the gang's all here," Steve said. He glanced around and took the one remaining open seat, in the center of the sofa next to Tony. His gaze flickered over, and Tony nodded back. "Okay, well, here's where we stand."

They went over the battle (how they could have done things better, faster, and more efficiently) and the fallout -- six civilian casualties, none of them fatal, and no injuries to the Avengers -- discussed Tony's ETA on the altered suit, and the concessions.

"Can we trust the terms of this deal?" Tony asked, leaning forward to cup his elbows.

"Oh, yes," Thor answered. "Those who dwell on this realm would be dishonored by failing to live up to their word."

Tony looked thoughtful. "Well, that's something, I guess."

They moved into a lengthy discussion of defensive tactics and tech, and then the list of PR initiatives Fury had forwarded, with Natasha complaining about having to appear at yet another charity banquet, and then the man himself strode in.

"Hello, team," Fury said, folding his sunglasses. "Are we well?"

"This is a rare appearance, Director Fury," Natasha smirked.

"Yes, you rarely attend our brief meetings," Thor agreed. "Although three-and-a-half hours is very long indeed."

"What, I can't swing by for a debrief? I also brought some eyes-only assignments." Fury waved a folder and rested both knuckles on the back of the sofa. "Stark," he boomed, and when Tony turned his head, Fury stared at him. Then he started to laugh. "Shit," Fury managed. "Clint sent me a picture but I just had to see this for myself."

Tony tossed a hand in the air. "Go ahead. Laugh. I'm temporarily female thanks to some Merlin shit. It's _so_ funny."

"It's pretty funny," Bruce said, adjusting his glasses as Fury tried desperately to rein in his snorts and Tony glared at them both. "I mean that it's...slightly funny."

"Uh huh," Tony nodded in an exaggerated way. "You wouldn't be saying that if it had happened to you."

"If if had happened to me, I'd probably be exponentially more pissed-off than you seem to be, so we're probably all better off this way," Bruce pointed out, taking a sip from his water bottle.

"That would be most dangerous for all concerned," Thor agreed gravely.

"Big...green...woman," Fury sputtered, and Clint started to laugh, too. 

"Guys," Steve cut in, turning to give Fury an exasperated look. "Geez."

"I give up," Tony said, getting to his feet. "This meeting's over, right? Because I need a drink."

"Unless Director Fury seriously has a mission brief or anything else..." Steve trailed off.

"Actually," Fury tried to wipe the smile off his face. "I do. This is a surveillance and destruction operation. Starts up in four days. Illegal weapons plant in the Urals, terrorist coup threat, and the government there has requested help. Banner -- you're on defense and logistics at headquarters. Barton and Romanoff, you're going to get samples and grease the way in," he opened a folder and displayed a flash of blueprints, "...and Stark and Rogers handle the demolition after they get your high sign. Got it?"

"What will I be tasked to do?" Thor asked, as Tony sank back to the sofa.

"You," Fury said, pointing at him, "Will be dispatched to negotiate further with the realm responsible for this magical spell bullshit. And that is an order that I never thought I'd issue."

"I must inform you, Director Fury, that these concessions will not be negotiable," Thor pulled at his sweatshirt. "And we have agreed not to enter their realm. Such a mission would be seen as an act of aggression."

"Fine," Fury sighed. "Thor, you back up Banner. We have some verified threats coming in here too, and two heads are better than one."

Natasha nodded, took the folder and began conferring with Clint over the blueprints as Fury, Bruce, and Thor went into a moving huddle and headed for the door. "See ya later!" Bruce called out with a wave, and Natasha looked at her watch and grabbed her things to get ready to leave.

"Aren't you guys going to stay for food?" Tony asked.

"We have plans," Clint said with a sideways glance at Natasha. She waved the blueprints innocently.

"I'll stay and eat with you," Steve said, examining his folded hands as the stragglers made their way out. 

"Thank you," Tony said, meaning it sincerely. The new armor was being formed and solidified, there wasn't anything he could do in the workshop but watch it happen, and that was literally almost as bad as the proverbial 'watching paint dry' scenario. "What should we order?"

"I don't know, you know all the good places," Steve said. "Or...we could go out to eat. When was the last time you left the building?"

Tony tilted his head. "Today. Natasha took me out to buy lady clothes."

Steve looked taken aback. "Oh, I thought..."

"Thought I'd build 'em in the lab? It's not Santa's Workshop, Cap. No, out is fine, but I'm sick of pizza. How's Thai? Or you know, I bet you'd like to sit in a real steakhouse and poke down a rare one."

"Whatever you want," Steve said, getting up. "It's early. You want to walk? Oh, but...um..." he gestured at Tony's cleavage. "I can see your..."

Tony cocked a brow.

"Your arc device," Steve said. Tony looked down and saw the top of the reactor shining out between his breasts.

"Ah. Be right back." Tony disappeared down the hallway and went to his bedroom, where he plucked a high-necked shirt from a shopping bag, but stuffed it back down and opened a drawer, taking out a fringed green silk scarf that usually went around the collar of a dinner jacket. He wrapped it around his neck and tucked it into the top. In the bathroom, he brushed back his bangs a little and paused before picking up the gold tube from the counter and slicking some pink gloss over his lips. Tony felt like he was getting ready for a first date. In a way, maybe it was. And maybe that was why he felt nervous.

* * *

"Would you like a drink first?" Tony was nodding quickly, _yes yes yes_ , and Steve smiled at him across the table. "None for me," he said. "Just water, but..." he gestured at Tony.

The server turned to him. "We have several classic and premium cocktails -- our celebrated Pomegranatini is a house specialty."

"Uhh...huh. Right. What single malts do you have?"

The server reeled off a list, and Tony ordered. "I'll take that neat. Thanks." He watched the server depart. "You don't drink liquor, do you -- no effect?"

"No, and I never developed much of a taste for it anyway. Not even beer."

"How am I going to seduce you later if you're stone cold sober?" Tony asked in a mock-serious tone, and Steve stared back at him for a second before rolling his eyes.

"Oh, ha ha," Steve said, and Tony watched a flush climb his neck, which was perfectly adorable. "Good thing you have a sense of humor about all this. Given Director Fury and everything else."

Tony picked up his drink. "Uh huh," he said. "It's temporary, so it's not too hard to be relaxed about it. Especially since I've had to adapt to enough permanent changes." He tapped the center of his chest, and Steve nodded. "I think you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Steve said soberly. "Guess I do."

They fell into a conversation about Bruce's projects and as they worked on the steaks, Fury's latest mission. Steve complained about not setting the individual assignments, but admitted he'd have probably made the same decisions, and in turn, Tony admitted he was grateful not to be sidelined because of his status, like that was even an option. That led to talk of Natasha's unique talents, and Tony watched Steve's eyes light up as he told Tony about Peggy Carter. Of course he'd heard of her, from his dad, from the popular media even, but there was so much he hadn't known.

"You're really easy to talk to, for a dame," Steve said, on the walk home.

Tony nudged him with an elbow. "Because I'm not a dame. That's probably why."

"Well, I know that," Steve said. "It's just..." he shook his head. "I don't know. We never had much in the way of a conversation before. Mostly, I felt like punching you out, because you can be irritating. Sorry. That's really a terrible thing to say."

"Guess you don't hit women," Tony said.

Steve looked a little discomfited."No, I mean, I don't hit people in general, unless they provoke it. It's just...it's different."

"What are you doing?" Tony asked, as Steve shuffled position again when they crossed the street.

"I'm--" Steve mumbled something.

"Oh! Oh god! You're trying to walk the curb, so the stagecoaches won't splash mud on the lady. That's so cute," Tony laughed softly. "That's totally it."

"I uh," Steve said, embarrassed."I guess old habits..."

"No, that's nice. Did you take a lot of women out for moonlight walks, before you ended up on ice?"

Steve gave Tony a sideways glance. "Well, I told you about Peggy. I had hoped that -- we were supposed to have a real actual formal date before -- you know. Before that, no. I wasn't exactly lucky with the ladies when I was scrawny, and during the USO tours, there were a few women that I guess...liked me well enough. Or they liked the idea of Captain America, I suppose. They wouldn't have given me a second look before the serum."

Tony snickered knowingly. "There are quite a few women who like the idea of Tony Stark, eligible rich man about town, too. Sucks to be us, really."

"So many adore us," Steve said, laughing out loud.

"...and so few get to know us," Tony nodded. "Still, it's kind of great to be able to walk around the city and not be stared at." Steve had been seen battling Chitauri on television in his Cap costume, but except for some black tie benefit shots, his face wasn't ubiquitous in the media...yet. And Tony Stark didn't look like Tony Stark tonight, even though the strut was the same. Tony took a deep breath, and tucked his arm into Steve's. He felt Steve stiffen automatically, his pace slowing, and then he seemed to relax and fall back into an easy stride. "This okay?"

Steve didn't answer, but he didn't move away, either.

When they arrived at Stark Tower, Tony keyed them in with his free hand and regretfully let go of Steve's arm in the elevator. "Nightcap?" Tony said.

"Uh, goodnight?" Steve replied.

"No, nightcap, as in a drink. Have a drink with me." Tony pressed the button for the penthouse.

"I..." Steve trailed off.

"Yeah, yeah, I just want another before bed and I don't want to drink alone. Come on, it's still early."

Steve agreed, and once inside, Tony unzipped the blasted boots and pulled of his socks, dropping them where he stood, and keyed in a playlist before making a beeline for the bar. "You sure you don't want one? Can I make you something else? Shirley Temple?" He poured himself a few fingers of Talisker and pulling another glass, shot in clear soda and grenadine. He stuck ice and a maraschino cherry in the drink and walked over to where Steve was standing at the window. "Here."

Steve laughed out loud, surprised. "Oh my god, you actually made me a Shirley Temple."

"I used to love 'em as a kid. Sweet as hell, aren't they? Dad used to--" Tony shook his head and curled up on the sofa as Steve joined him, then raised his glass to clink them, and they drank. "Try mine?"

Gamely, Steve took a miniscule sip of Tony's scotch, gave his head a shake, and whistled. "Whew. That burns all the way down."

"Acquired taste. I fucking love a 30 year old dram though," Tony declared, trying on a terrible Scottish accent and regarding his glass with pure adoration. They sat companionably with their drinks, and Steve complimented the music Tony had chosen -- Sade's warm crooning filled the apartment.

"I thought you only liked screaming rock and roll," Steve said, draining his glass, and Tony shrugged, setting his scotch on the table.

"No, I _love_ screaming rock and roll, Grandad. It just doesn't work as well when I'm trying to seduce somebody," Tony said softly, leaning into Steve's ear, his hand falling gently along his shoulder. He expected Steve to stiffen again, square his shoulders, turn away, turn this into a joke to mask his discomfort, but Steve only turned his face Tony's way, expectant. Tony saw his throat bob when he swallowed. He kind of wanted to lick that. No, he definitely did.

Tony wet his lips. "I've been thinking..." he said. "I'm only going to be in this particular body for a couple of months, and I kind of -- now hear me out -- I want to see what it can do. Come on, if it happened to you, you'd want to know how it feels, right? I mean, you know what I mean."

An endless pause.

Tony continued, now rambling, "I know it's an unconventional thing to even ask, and probably unprofessional or whatever. Fraternizing? What? Who cares, right, but I like you, and trust you, and I'm really kind of scarily attracted to you. It's understandable if you wouldn't want to because it's so weird, but you're straight, you like women, and I -- here we are..." he let the words trail off, breathless. Steve was staring at him. "Say something? Or at least say you won't punch me out."

A small smile played over Steve's lips, and Tony felt a cool wash of relief. "I don't want to punch you," Steve said.

"But."

Steve's shoulder shifted under Tony's fingertips, but not away. "But I've wanted to do this all night." His arm curled around Tony's back and he leaned forward, raised his other hand to slip his fingers along Tony's jaw and captured Tony's parted lips against his.

Tony kissed him back, just let it deepen, really...let go, and god, Steve was good at this, he thought. "Me too," Tony whispered into Steve's jaw as his arm tightened and pulled Tony into his lap.

His pulse was going a mile a minute and there was a warm clench in his belly that Tony recognized as this body's number one signal of arousal. "I'm Iron Man, and I'm kissing Captain America," he said, pausing for a ragged breath.

"You're an oddball. You want my autograph, Stark?" Steve's fingertips grazed the raised line of the bra strap across Tony's back.

"...and he's not running out the door double-time. And it isn't even my birthday."

Steve pulled back a bit and opened his eyes. "You thought I'd say no to this?"

"I, uh," Tony slid his fingertips along Steve's shoulders. "I just wanted to remind you that I'm still who I am. Underneath." 

Steve paused and cocked his head. "So can I have _your_ autograph?"

Tony gave his chest a little shove. "I expected you to have reservations, I guess. Or to run."

"Sorry to disappoint," Steve gave Tony a lazy grin.

"Hmmph."

"Look, you were brave to ask. It would have been rude not to oblige," Steve said solemnly.

Tony dropped his hands. "You're shitting me, right?"

In response, Steve wrapped another arm around Tony's waist. "You know when we're on a mission -- and all of us are there, or most of us, anyway -- and we're covering all the angles, or we think we are? Eye in the sky, two in first to sweep, standard clear-and-hold?"

Tony nodded.

"And something slips through; I'm a fraction slower than I could have been with the shield, or Natasha doesn't duck fast enough and takes a blow, goes ass over teakettle. We go over that later like football coaches, try to figure out where we messed up." Steve tucked a finger into one of Tony's beltloops and waited for acknowledgement that he was listening. "Well, I didn't want to look back and say I was slower than I should have been, like an operation when we miss a target and have to go hand-to-hand."

"You thought I'd give up after just one attempt?" Tony gave him an incredulous look.

"One? You've been throwing yourself at me all night, you lug," Steve said, exasperated. "What if you decided on somebody else tomorrow? Clint would, you know."

"Please," Tony shook his head. "You're my favorite."

"Well, I don't know. I've missed a lot of chances. I thought I kind of made that clear at dinner."

"You..."

"During the war, a lot of people don't think about tomorrow. Well, I did. I waited for the perfect time with the perfect woman. And then I nose-dived a bomber into an ice shelf and took a 70-year nap. And when I woke up, she was gone. You get a short window of time to -- what did you call it -- 'see what this body could do' -- You were offering...well, you're a man; what did you think I'd say?"

Tony shifted and sat back a bit. "You're actually making a lot of sense."

"That's because I'm sensible."

"There's a singer called Captain Sensible," Tony said. "Punk rock. I think you'd hate his stuff."

Steve shrugged. "Are you backing out on me?"

"Me?" Tony fairly squeaked. "No."

"Well, alright then." Steve's hand's roamed down over Tony's backside and he cupped his cheeks and gave him a squeeze. Tony bit his lip. "Because you...are so _sexy_."

Tony was flattered, no doubt about it. "Take me to bed or lose me forever," he said.

Steve gave him a dubious look. " _Really_?"

"It's from...have you seen Top Gun?"

"Yes, Tony," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "Last week. in fact, I was sitting right here," he poked at the sofa for emphasis. "Thor made popcorn." 

"Oh."

"Have you seen Cinderella?" Steve asked.

" _...Yes_."

"Good. So why don't I take you to bed before you turn into a pumpkin?"

"That's not what happened to her," Tony pointed out.

"Right. She lost her slipper. You're not wearing slippers."

"You're so literal."

"Shut up and show me where the bedroom is."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex! Finally. Geez.

Steve pulled back and Tony opened his eyes to find him with a solemn expression. Tony licked his lips to speak, but before he could say anything else, Steve was kissing him again, running his thumbs over the exposed strip of skin above Tony's waistband before flicking the snap open with one hand.

"Have you done this before?" Tony asked, lifting his head off the bed. "Or is this the blind leading the blind, here?"

"What do you think?" Steve asked, as he pulled down the zipper.

"I am like, done making assumptions today."

Steve laughed. "Good," he said, he watched as Tony sat up and pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, and fumbled behind his back to unfasten the bra. "Hold on," Steve said, reaching behind him. "Got it." He slowly slipped the straps down Tony's shoulders and pulled it free from Tony's raised arms. "You are...really beautiful," he said, glancing his fingertips along the bottom of Tony's ribcage.

Tony shivered, pleased that Steve thought so, but this wasn't really his body, was it? Or it mostly wasn't. He reached up around his own neck and adjusted the tuxedo scarf still wrapped around it, smoothing it down the center of his bare chest, and Steve sat back on his heels, still dressed.

"What's wrong?" Tony asked.

"Nothing," Steve answered. "Are you self-conscious about..." he trailed a finger down the scarf and stopped over the arc reactor, which glowed faintly behind the silk fabric.

"Not at all," Tony said. "But I'd understand if you are. It's a little..."

"Bright?" Steve's mouth curled upward.

"No, weird," Tony murmured. "I've had some interesting reactions from people I've been with."

"I've seen it plenty of times. You cut holes in your shirts, for pete's sake."

"Yes, Mr Stark does occasionally do that," Tony said quickly, giving him a challenging look.

Steve didn't blink. "I'm not deluding myself here, Tony," he said, before he stood, yanked at the bottoms of Tony's jeans and pulled them off.

First one breast, than the other; Steve gave them equal time, fingers, lips and tongue leaving Tony gasping and sliding his fingers through Steve's hair. "Beautiful," Steve repeated, leaning in strong and solid above him, to dot kisses again along the delicate arch of Tony's neck as he slipped a hand between his parted thighs.

"Unffgh," Tony mumbled into a balled fist.

"What was that?" Steve whispered.

"I said, take your clothes off and get inside me," Tony replied.

"Don't you want to relish this? It's the first time," Steve said, sounding a little chagrined.

Tony jiggled his legs impatiently. "Three months," he said. "There'll be other times, won't there?"

A crafty grin spread over Steve's face. "I think that can be arranged," he said, unbuttoning and shrugging off his shirt and then gripping Tony's hip. His fingers slipped easily over his folds and fluttered against his clit, and Tony whimpered. He had known, of course, how women reacted when he touched them like that, watched them writhe the way he couldn't seem to stop himself from doing now.

"How's that?"

"So good," Tony hissed, pressing his hips up for more contact, more everything.

"You _feel_ good," Steve said. "Wet. Ready."

"Oh, I am," Tony breathed, his legs were shaking on their own, and he leaned upward on an elbow as Steve stood to take off his khakis to size him up. "And so are you."

"Do you have...?" Tony blinked at him, confused.

"Oh." Tony waved at the dresser next to the bed, and Steve rifled through it, ripped a wrapper with his teeth, and let Tony beckon him over, smooth it on. Steve stretched out over him, skin flushed pink, eyes dark, to trace a line along Tony's collarbone with his tongue, his fingers playing along the nape of his neck.

"Please," Tony pleaded, because that was...nice, and sweet, but not nearly enough. He began grinding his hips into Steve's hand as he stroked Tony again, sliding his fingers against him, circling, dipping inside, still teasing. He was soaking wet and wanton and he wanted this, now. He absently grabbed for Steve's cock, but Steve edged away, out of reach.

"Shh," Steve said, "this is for you," he said, before he spread Tony's legs wider and covered him again, watching his face as he eased his way in and gave his hips an experimental thrust. "You feel...just perfect," he whispered into Tony's neck, as he began to move -- gently at first, then pumping faster and surer, Tony's legs wrapping around him, his head falling back against the pillows, soft little sounds tearing from his throat.

Steve lifted him off the bed, gripped his ass, and Tony went incoherent again; all he could do was hang on. 

 

"You've slept together? Already? You have got to be kidding me." Natasha shook her head.

"Sure," Tony said nonchalantly. "There was no sleeping, however."

" _Bozhe moi_ , you move fast!" Natasha marveled, "I already knew you were easy, but Steve?"

"I gave him an offer he couldn't refuse," Tony replied. "To go where no man has gone before."

"You watch far too many movies."

"Star Trek was a classic TV series first," Tony clarified.

"Whatever. And that second one's not exactly accurate, is it?" Natasha pursed her lips.

"A mere technicality."

"...that's another quote?"

"Probably."

* * *

The mission in the Urals was pushed back by three days, and Tony and Steve took advantage of one of them very successfully. This time, Tony ended on top, tempting and teasing and taking things so incrementally slow that Steve finally grabbed his hips with a bruising grasp and gave him a look that said _stop fooling around, Stark_. And then he'd said it aloud, just so there was no confusion.

 

The weapons plant went down thanks to controlled demolition; Clint and Natasha infiltrated with cameras and sent back coordinates. They went in again with Steve, who took out two guards while Tony mapped posts and pillars remotely along with the location of the uranium refinement unit. The plan was to sink it underground and collapse the building, and then the local army would move in and handle the cleanup. Since the unit wasn't yet active, radiation was still within safe limits -- but that wouldn't be the case in a week or two.

Clint set charges based on the new maps, and Tony took care of ignition.

They pulled up the satellite screens in the back of the unmarked SHIELD van afterward, sent video, and he and Steve returned Bruce's thumbs-up, full of adrenaline.

"Everything solid back in Candyland? Tony asked.

"We're good!" Bruce answered. "Threats didn't pan out, Thor's bored off his ass and tried to make weather but I talked him down and put him to work on a couple of different formulas for glowing daiquiris."

"Better not be radioactive or you're both off the team," Fury chimed in on the secure comm. "Nice job, everybody. Ran like clockwork. Stand down."

The van sped silently along a deserted back road under the setting sun.

 

"We're stopping," Natasha said loudly, pulling the van off the main road to follow a sign leading to a smallish town. "For showers. And rest. And recreation."

"Excellent!" Clint said. "I remember a couple of decent bars here."

"Security?" Steve asked.

"It's fine," Natasha answered. "Four roads out, no tall buildings. The population's older; since the economy went bad, the younger people have been migrating into the city. It's mostly older folks and young families, and like Clint says, some fun bars, but nothing fancy. They know us here, but they don't know us here, if you catch what I'm saying." She pulled into a gravel drive in front of an unassuming three-story building and the headlights illuminated a tiny sign screwed to the door.

"What's this?" Tony asked.

"Bed and breakfast," Natasha said with a smile as a light turned on inside. "I called ahead. You're sharing."

In the back seat, Steve's hand tightened around Tony's thigh.

"Meet downstairs at 2100, gents," Natasha ordered. "Dress presentably."

 

Steve and Clint cleaned up first and dressed -- Clint in a sports coat, black shirt and trousers, Steve in button-up shirt and his leather jacket with khakis. They had been in the lounge making nice with the B&B proprietor before he retired to his rooms, and Clint was rifling through the bookshelves, "Nothing in English. Good thing I brought my Kindle," he was saying when Natasha and Tony joined them.

"I can't believe you use a Kindle. There's a first-gen e-reader I developed that kicks its ass seven ways to Sunday," Tony said.

"Set me up, then. I'm sure I'll be waiting a long time. Women take forever, if getting dressed is any indication," Clint complained, and Natasha growled at him.

Steve's eyes widened when he saw Tony; a sharp intake of breath was all he could manage.

Tony bit his bottom lip. "It's her fault," he said, indicating Natasha with a thumb. "Seems she's a sneaky packer."

"I travel a lot," Natasha said, brushing her nails along her shoulder. "And I always pack efficiently for any possible occasion." She wore a bright blue blouse and slim dark skirt, along with black suede stiletto-heeled boots. Tony was decked out in gold strappy sandals with a tiny kitten heel, and a short, flared dress -- cherry red -- with a high halter neck in front. He turned so Steve could see the low dip that bared his back.

"She sure knows your color," Steve said.

"Yeah, I don't really keep that secret, do I?" Tony said with a grin, and Steve wrapped an arm around his waist before impulsively bending to plant a kiss on an exposed shoulder.

"Whoa," Clint said.

"What?" Tony snapped, challenge in his voice. "That's right, it's a dress."

"No I just didn't...realize," Clint searched their faces and shrugged. "That's all."

"Don't tell Fury," Steve warned.

"What goes on tour, stays on tour, Rogers," Natasha said, entwining her fingers with Clint's. "Isn't that right, _solnyshko_?"

 

The bar was warm and modest, with half the tables and chairs pushed into a line for someone's loud birthday celebration. A few other locals and sullen-looking teenagers with bottles of flavored malt drinks and denim miniskirts chatted each other up at the bar proper. 

"The jukebox is all golden oldies," Clint complained as he returned to their table, leaving Tony alone to pore over the selections.

"To Clint, grunge is oldies," Natasha confided to Steve, who shook his head.

"I don't know grunge."

"It's music from the 1990s," Clint said, "and that is unfair. I think hair bands are oldies," the music started up and he pointed upward as a guitar riff kicked in, trailed by drums. ""Case in point. Poison."

"Speaking of, name yours," Natasha announced as Tony joined them again. "The first round's mine."

Tony glanced around the modest bar. "Scotch. Anything that's not blended, but if that's the best they can do, whatever vodka you're having."

Clint nodded at Natasha, and she looked at Steve. "Soda water?"

"Pomegranatini," Steve said carefully over the music, like maybe he'd rehearsed it, and Tony started to laugh. "House specialty. Sorry, inside joke. I'll have whatever Tony's having."

"Thought you didn't drink," Clint commented. "Doesn't affect you, does it?"

Steve shrugged. "No, but I don't have any moral objection to it. It's good to try new things sometimes," He licked his lips, and Tony felt a thrill dance up his spine and shifted his chair closer to the wall. A couple from the birthday gathering took advantage of the jukebox, their friends clapping as they began to bob and shimmy together at the edge of the bar's tiny dance floor as Tony watched, tapping a palm against his knee.

_'Cause baby we'll be at the drive-in_  
In the old man's Ford  
Behind the bushes, 'til I'm screamin' for more  
Down the basement, lock the cellar door  
And baby  
Talk dirty to me 

Clint jumped when Steve nudged his arm. "Hey, show me that picture of Tony you sent to Fury." Clint obliged, scrolling through his phone and passing it over. Tony was propped up against a post, still wearing his helmet with its visor up, his eyes closed, a smudge of dust across his cheek.

"She...he hadn't woken up yet and realized...here, I'll just send it to you." Clint took back his phone and clicked a bit and Steve felt the "new message" vibration in his chest pocket. 

"You lucked out, Stark," Natasha said when she reappeared with a tray. "Single-malt." 

Tony watched Steve over his glass as he took a sip first. "Did you really acquire a taste for the hard stuff already?" Tony asked him.

" _You_ sure did," Clint said, and Natasha jabbed him forcefully with an elbow. "Ow." They chattered over the drinks; verbally high-fiving each other over the details of the mission.

The song changed and Tony stood, smoothing the front of the red dress. "Come on," he angled his head. "No pictures, Barton." Steve set down his drink and took Tony's hand, let himself be led over to the other swaying couple.

"I'm not really a good dancer," Steve apologized, but Tony didn't answer, just tucked his arms around Steve's neck and started to move to the music, and Steve let his hands fall on Tony's back and follow his lead. "Well, this is easy."

It _was_ easy, Tony thought. He relaxed and leaned into Steve's chest, grazed his cheek against his jawline, breathed him in. "Modern dancing. The point is maximum physical contact for four minutes. But we're going to make Clint do the Electric Slide later; I fed that jukebox so much money it's going to need a colonic in the morning."

"Hey," Steve said, his hand gliding up Tony's bare shoulder blades and back down to grip his waist tighter, "This is from Top Gun."

"You're not the only one who can pull off the cheesy inside jokes, Cap."

_Through the hourglass I saw you, in time you slipped away_  
When the mirror crashed I called you, and turned to hear you say  
If only for today, I am unafraid 

_Take my breath away_

Steve's pocket vibrated again.

 

Natasha and Clint ended up on the dance floor too, after the third drink, and Steve saluted Clint when Tony suggested they go out back for some air.

"Pretty night," Steve said, looking up at the stars, hands in pockets. "Can't believe we aced a mission today and here we are, having a good time instead of snoozing in a barracks."

"Oh, you have _no_ idea," Tony said, giving his chest a little shove with his hand so his back pressed against the wall. Tony's shoes made a scritching sound against the gravel as he crouched and fumbled with Steve's belt.

"Here?" Steve hissed.

"Yeah, here," Tony said, looking up through his lashes as he unfastened Steve's fly the rest of the way. He palmed him through his briefs, and the back of Steve's head hit the wall.

Tony freed Steve's cock from the crisp cotton, stroked him quickly and braced one arm against his thigh to take him into his mouth, swirling his tongue. " _Oh_ ," Steve breathed, curling his fingers around the curve of Tony's jaw. He stroked a thumb along his hollowing cheek as Tony swallowed him deep, rocking against his hips in the half-dark alley. Steve came with a jerk of his shoulders, choking back a gasp, the back of his fist hitting the brick wall behind him. Tony looked up again as he licked him clean and refastened his pants, but Steve stilled Tony's hand at his belt to pull him up into a feverish kiss, and Tony knew he could taste himself, hot and bitter, over the bite of the scotch.

"You're goddamn delicious," Tony whispered as Steve splayed his hands across the warmth of his back, and Steve just shook his head and pulled him closer.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve didn't keep a diary, or take notes about things. He'd been advised to do so, by Dr Erskine; memories can be faulty, memories can trick. Something could happen to you one day and no one would know what you'd thought about it, and who you were would be filtered through what others thought about you.

He'd found that one out for himself.

But he wasn't a writer -- he'd always drawn his memories instead. He flipped through sketches of Bucky showing him how to play cards, the look on his face when he was bluffing, Peggy's face in the taxicab, even scenes from boot camp, like the view from the back of the pack, the formation marching far ahead of him as he trudged along, struggling to keep up.

The sketches wouldn't mean anything to anyone else. They were for him. They helped him to remember how he'd...felt about things.

There were many more drawings now: One from the mission in the Urals, Tony shifting a massive steel girder, wearing the suit. A sketch of Tony's eyes, dark and inviting, the way he looked at Steve over the top of his glass. Just his eyes, though. Steve set down his charcoal, not sure how to fill in the rest.

Steve pulled up the photographs from his phone -- the one taken before Tony had awakened after the spell, and others Clint had sent him, of Steve and Tony dancing.

He picked up the sketchpad again and drew Tony the day he'd fallen from the sky, and remembered how relieved he'd felt when he finally opened his eyes

 

"Mmmm," Tony stretched his legs luxuriously He curled his fingers around Steve's neck and leaned up to lick at the soft pink curve of his ear.

"How'd you sleep?" Steve asked.

Tony sighed. "Fantastic. I'm so glad you stayed."

"Was having sex first thing in the morning one of the things you wanted to try out?" Steve asked softly, pulling Tony closer.

"Oh yeah," Tony nodded, though he hadn't actually thought of that one yet.

 

"I love this movie," Steve said, pressing rewind. "I always looked forward to going to the pictures as a kid, but I think this is my all-time number one."

Tony nudged his shoulder against Steve's, then rested his chin on his hands and crossed his legs behind him, wigging his toes. "It's good, but there's the whole Academy Awards back catalog, and we've barely dipped into it."

"I don't care," Steve said. He crawled over the back of Tony's thighs, leaned forward to massage his back, and they watched as the Cooler King stole a motorcycle and rode away from the camp yet again.

"Thought you liked Top Gun best," Tony mumbled into the mattress. "It has all of our inside jokes."

"I like that too."

"The volleyball scene is very homoerotic," Tony pointed out, as Steve silently pressed the heel of his hand into his lower back. "Ah, that's amazing. Right there."

 

"This is fucking incredible," Tony gasped later, wrapping his hands tight around the stack of pillows as Steve pounded him from behind. "I mean, it hits the spot, literally."

Steve groaned and skidded a hand around the front of Tony's waist, then down, working him with sure, steady fingers.

"Oh!" Tony breathed, his eyes going wide."That's a good spot, too."

* * *

Tony hit the lab to assist Bruce all morning, which stretched into an afternoon, and night found him in his workshop brainstorming over the repulsor gauntlets. He dialed Steve on bluetooth as he poked at two bits of wire and wrapped them together, giving himself a shock. "Fuck!"

Steve didn't answer, but Tony realized he'd lost track of time, it was two am, and Cap slept like the dead. He put everything away, hit the shower and then his mattress, and woke up a few hours later, startled out of a nightmare. Steve was rounding on him angrily, ordering him to put on the suit, _so we can take this outside,_ and Tony was arguing back, something about not wanting to fight, and not understanding why Steve wanted to fight with him when all Tony wanted to do was hold him and go back to bed, but Steve was _insisting_ they had to fight. _Why would I want you, Stark? You're nothing without the suit. Nothing._

Tony shook his head, saddened, and tried to fall back asleep. It took a long time.

* * *

Steve was stretched out diagonally across Tony's giant bed, playing idly with his nipples, judging how little it took to make them harden. It took the lightest graze of his palm, a breath -- sometimes just the right sort of glance.

Tony turned on his side and pressed a palm against Steve's chest, licking his teeth. "I want to try something else," he said.

"Else?" Steve's smile charmed him. He really had the best smile. "What else is there?"

"Yeah, well," Tony said, keeping his eyes on that smile as he reached blindly beneath the stack of pillows under his head. He produced out a tube and wiggled it.

"What's this?"

"Lubricant. I want..." He took Steve's fingers, brought them down and cocked his hips upward. "I want you to."

Steve looked uncertain. "Do you?...I've never done this."

"I have, just not recently," Tony said, and Steve raised his eyebrows. "It's been a few years. I like it up the ass, alright? It's the 21st century. You judging?"

"Hardly," Steve said, taking the tube from Tony's outstretched hand.

"Are you actually reading the instructions? Don't read the instructions." Tony pulled at him, stroked his arm, murmured his own-- _you just, right, not quite ready, uh huh, more...oh -- yes, yes, perfect, just like that -- ah, that's good._

"C'mon, believe me; you won't break anything," Tony pleaded, grasping desperately at Steve's massive shoulders, then taking one of his hands, twining their fingers together and squeezing. "Deeper. Feel good?"

"So tight," Steve groaned, nodding, the tendons in his neck standing out as beads of sweat popped on his forehead. "I won't last."

"S'okay, gorgeous," Tony said, eyelids fluttering, torso muscles twitching. Steve eased forward and began to move, slowly, as Tony moaned beneath him. He dragged his thumb over Tony's clit and snapped his hips smoothly, and Tony arched his back, spasmed hard and clenched, crying out, dragging Steve over the edge along with him.

"Oh my sweet god," Steve managed, chest heaving as he held himself up on his fists. He disengaged with care, then leaned back against the down pillows, wrapping Tony in his arms. "Wow."

"Mmm," Tony answered languidly. "Yes."

"Can we do that again?" Steve asked, raggedly.

"Anytime, soldier," Tony murmured, curling tightly against Steve's chest. "Anytime."

 

On another night, Tony was leaning over the side of the bed, going down on Steve like it was his favorite thing (it was one of his favorite things), watching him lose control so beautifully, and he moved a delicate hand to smooth over his balls, tug softly, just the way he liked it, then drop lower. He licked a fingertip and traced gently around Steve's entrance, and was answered with a low moan.

"Hang on," Tony said, standing up. "Just hang on. Take over," he said, placing Steve's hand on his own dick and watched him start to stroke himself, his eyelids fluttering shut. "Nice." Tony found what he was looking for and dropped to his knees on the bed, laying one hand over Steve's, stroking with him as his now-slicked fingers slid downward and just inside. He moved carefully, smoothing them upward, searching, pressing finally against his prostate as he matched Steve's speed.

"You like this?"

"I...you," Steve managed. "Oh." Tony watched Steve's face as he came, bucking into Tony's hands, his thighs shaking. "That was.." Steve said breathlessly, "...really, really good."

"I know," Tony replied, grinning. "You know what we should do? We should order some toys."

His arm thrown over his eyes, Steve nodded.

* * *

Hands shaking, Tony frantically searched his StarkPhone for Natasha's image, and pressed it with his thumb.

"Hello?" she answered, sounding fuzzy.

"Natasha," Tony whimpered.

"Tony? What's wrong?"

"Can you come up to my apartment, please?"

"Can this wait until..." he heard her fumbling with her phone. "Sometime other than four am? Say...eight? Make it nine."

"I need...feminine hygiene products."

"Oh. Well shit."

 

"This really sucks," Tony said, holding a hot water bottle to his abdomen and hefting a highball glass. "I don't feel like going horseback riding. The ads are a lie."

Natasha gave him a wry grin."You get used to it, and you seem to be suffering considerably worse than I do. Of course now there are pills for regulating that so you don't have to..." her eyes narrowed. "You're using birth control, aren't you?"

"Of course I am." Tony sniffed. He hadn't thought about it too much, and gave silent and belatedly grateful thanks to Steve for being the one who had.

"Because this means you probably ovulate and everything," Natasha said. "Have you seen a doctor at all since this happened?"

"Right, because this would be easy to explain and I wouldn't end up in an AMA journal. I did take health class in 7th grade, though." Tony said. "Wait, no, I skipped 7th grade, but I read a book."

Natasha swung herself up on the bar and steadied a rocking wine bottle next to her with one hand. "You should freeze some of your eggs."

"What? Why?"

Natasha shrugged. "In case. In case you wanted to have a baby one day."

"I could have been a father by now if I'd wanted to." Tony ringed the top of his glass with a finger. "If you want to know the truth, it had its up moments, but I didn't have the most awesome childhood. My father was an impatient workaholic with unrealistic expectations, and guess what? Fallen apple, tree, not distant. I'm not sure I'd even want to subject a kid to me as a dad."

Natasha pulled the cork from the bottle and sniffed the contents. "Well, technically, you wouldn't be the dad, would you? You'd get a surrogate, but maybe someone else would be the dad. Steve, maybe."

Tony coughed wildly, slamming his fist into his chest. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, after you change back to Mr."

"I know what you're referring to, but that's ridiculous. Steve, no, he's..." Tony took a deep breath. "That's not in the cards anyway, after... So don't be ridiculous."

Natasha shrugged. "Lots of women do that; I'd consider it."

"Well, I'm not really a woman, and I'm not you. Drop it, okay?"

"Sure, Tony," Natasha said. "Whatever you say. Hey," she said, nudging Tony's shoulder, "I might as well tell you about the first time I got my period."

He made a face."Is this gonna be disgusting?"

She laughed. "No, not really. I was twelve. I came home from school one day and boom, same story. I was so freaked out I sat on the pot until my mother got home."

Tony winced.

"It was only an hour or so," Natasha added. "Then my mother told me I had finally 'become a woman' and she was making me a nice dinner to celebrate this mystical milestone of life, because that's what her mother had done for her."

"Well, that sounds nice," Tony nodded encouragingly. "It's a nice tradition."

"Borscht, Tony. She made borscht," Natasha said, straight-faced.

"Oh, god."

"I know. I've never been able to eat borscht again. You know how hard it is to avoid borscht in Russia?"

"I don't blame you. I think that story put me off it for life. Not that it was my favorite anyway," Tony grimaced. And her story could have been just that...something she made up, just for him, but he didn't care.

"I could take you out for gazpacho," Natasha offered, giggling. "Celebrate this mystical milestone."

"Uh...no, thanks."

 

"Look what I have," Steve said gleefully, shaking a small box with a Fedex label affixed to the front. "Plain brown wrapper. That means it's a..." he lowered his voice to a stage whisper "...sex thing."

Tony couldn't suppress a pained grin. "Can't."

"Can't what?"

"Don't feel well. Monthly, uh." Tony gestured vaguely with his hand, raised the hot water bottle, hoping he wouldn't have to go into detail.

Steve looked at him blankly for a moment and then his eyes widened... "Oh." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Want me to get you some, I don't know, soup?"

Tony made an exaggerated retching sound.

"Not hungry, I guess."

"Long story. But I would kill for a burger. A cow, that is. I would kill a cow for a burger. Not a pedestrian or anything. Well maybe, if they were walking very slowly in front of me as I was driving to a burger place."

"I could get you a hamburger."

"Thank you," Tony murmured, and Steve kissed him on the forehead before he sat up and left.

* * *

Tony leaned over his worktable, fucking with another 3D model, comparing it to a plan on a monitor. He used to be able to multitask, to snap from one thing to another. He'd do a phone interview, take a shower, catch a couple of clips on Headline News and jump right back in where he'd left off. Now he just felt feverishly distracted and it took a fidgety twenty minutes to refocus on anything he'd left hanging.

It didn't have anything to do with being in a female body but it had everything to do with it, and the calendar counting down the days in the corner of his main monitor and on his phone. In 19 days and 14 hours, he would be transformed back into the person he was before -- Steve's chief irritant. He wasn't about to delude himself either; the way Steve looked at him now -- the easy, indulgent smiles, the admiring glances -- wasn't anything like the way he'd looked at him when he was a man. When he was himself.

Tony Stark was a textbook workaholic, but right now, every second he spent in his workshop away felt like he was dribbling his last few sips of cool canteen water onto the dunes of a desert. But at the same time, every second he spent with Steve was another second closer to the end. He knew he was pushing him away. It was probably better for both of them this way. Later, it would be less awkward.

He didn't leave the workshop for 52 hours this time.

* * *

There was a mission in Wyoming to handle a madman who'd taken control of three Minuteman missile silos, in which Tony was paired up with Bruce, and Clint, Natasha, Steve and Thor were on Teams Two and Three. There was another less-shocking but still incredibly annoying period, and then they were back in the SHIELD headquarters breakroom discussing the upgrade agenda. Tony promised Director Fury he'd have the finalized helicarrier tech integration finished within ten days.

"I'm keeping Cap up here. He helped out before..." Tony began.

Fury eyed him. "He can help out with tech?"

Tony shrugged. "Yeah. He can do some end user QA. And there are shitloads of server racks to shift."

"You have dozens of SHIELD agents at your disposal," Fury pointed out. "They all have fingers and monitors. And they can move whatever you want to move. They have forklifts, too."

"The Director's right; you don't need me," Steve said, and after Fury left the room, Tony sauntered up to him and leaned against the counter.

"Oh, but I believe I do," he said, lips curving into an inviting smile.

Steve ran a hand through his hair and looked away. "You do, huh? I think you should just wrap it up on your own. It'll be easier if...just...I should go."

Tony gave him a curt nod and turned to pour himself a cup of coffee, but his vision blurred, turning the row of pink and blue packets of sugar substitute into a hazy collage. When he turned around, Steve was gone.

Tony pressed a napkin to his eyes.

 

Tony checked the countdown on his monitor. Not much time left now. He hadn't seen Steve at all since he'd been back, and asked JARVIS where he was.

"He's in his quarters, Mr Stark."

"What's he doing?"

"I don't monitor the residents' personal quarters without their approval." JARVIS said.

"You monitor everything in the building. Heat signature," Tony ordered.

"Gross invasion of privacy, Mr Stark, is the term I believe you once used."

"You're right," Tony said thoughtfully. "You're too artificially intelligent for your own good."

 

Tony knocked softly on Steve's door. He had access, but he never used it; he always knocked. The faint sound of the television cut out, and he waited.

"Steve?" he called out.

A pause. "Coming," he heard Steve say through the door before he swung it open and leaned against the jamb. He looked Tony up and down. "Hello there."

"Hi. Can I come in? We still have a couple of days left before this all goes away," Tony said quickly. "Sorry I've been... but we ought to take advantage, I think. If you wanted to?"

Steve opened the door wider and angled his head. "Come in," he said.

 

Tony stretched under the sheet and turned on his side, and the first thing he felt was his own light stubble scratching against the pillowcase. He slid a hand over his abdomen and down and... _Oh. Welcome back, good buddy_. He breathed out slowly, feeling a weight lift. He'd rolled with the spell, and it had had its definite perks, but it was a relief to be himself again. 

He shifted carefully on the bed, trying not to disturb Steve; he was still asleep, and Tony pulled a pillow under his chest and leaned on it, watching him. 

He'd thought there would be more time. He'd have chopped five years off the end of his life for another _week_ , but that wasn't the way things worked. He eased out of the bed in the murky early morning light and found one of Steve's t-shirts and a pair of sweats to wear back up to the penthouse.

Tony's hand shook slightly as he scrawled a short note and tucked it under the StarkPhone Steve used as his alarm clock.

 

Steve awakened and stretched an arm out to find the other side of the bed empty, the sheets cool. "Tony?" he asked fuzzily, raising his head. He sat up and scratched his shoulder, and as the room came into focus he sorted out the little heap of red fabric on the chair in the corner, the gold shoes turned askew on the floor next to it.

 _I'm a pumpkin, but I'm okay with that,_ Tony's note read.

 

* * *

28 hours and 39 minutes passed before Steve found Tony in his workshop. Tony silently thanked JARVIS for giving him a heads-up first. He took a deep breath and exhaled hard.

"You don't answer your messages. Should have known you were here," Steve said, his tone light. 

"Yep, working," Tony said, flicking through holographic 3D files: save, discard, save, discard, discard, discard, discard. "Working hard. Quinjet systems upgrades."

Steve nodded, "Anything I can do to help?"

Tony glanced at him and gave his head a noncommittal jerk.

Steve walked around him and set his water bottle down on Tony's desk, at his side. "I got your note," he said, from behind his ear.

Tony's back stiffened. He swiped his fingers through the air and discarded another set of plans. Saved. Discarded. "Well, you know, obviously..."

Steve's hands fell lightly on Tony's arms, his thumbs grazing his triceps. Tony dipped his head forward, felt Steve slip one finger up the center of his back to his nape, rubbing that one spot... he squeezed his eyes shut.

" _Are_ you? Okay?"

Tony nodded into his chest. "Sure."

"Because you seem a little tense right now," Steve murmured. "Even the last couple of weeks...before. You've been avoiding me, I think."

"I was _working_ ," Tony said, swallowing hard, blinking fast. "I'm behind on things."

Steve's hands glided to Tony's shoulders, and he began to dig his thumbs in, massaging the muscles there. "You've got knots again," Steve said.

Tony shrugged under his hands. "...don't. Please."

"Let me."

"Why?" Tony asked.

"Why? You like this. I know you like being touched like this." Tony could hear Steve inhale, and felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand up when he breathed out. "...don't you? Did you miss it?"

Tony was silent as Steve kneaded his muscles.

"But...maybe you don't realize I'd miss it. Touching you." Tony turned his head slightly. "And you busting my chops on movie night, and going for walks, and eating Chinese food in bed and getting all the broccoli you push into the corners because you don't care for it. And...other things. I miss everything."

Tony let his hands fall to the desktop.

Steve continued, his voice thick. "Because I didn't say...I thought you knew. I thought you were supposed to be smart, Stark." He paused. "Turn around," he said, urging it with the pressure of his palms.

Tony turned, focused on the shadow under Steve's jaw, the slow rake of his teeth against his bottom lip.

"I see you have your old body back," Steve said softly. "But it's kind of new to me, so, we could, I don't know, try it out...see what it can do. If you wanted to."

Tony's gaze tracked upward to search Steve's eyes, a vivid, liquid blue, giving him the same fond look he'd grown accustomed to.

"...unless you want to punch me or something." Steve dropped his hands from Tony's shoulders and shrugged. "But a guy's gotta ask."

"I don't want to punch you," Tony said, a corner of his lip twitching upward. "Why would I want to do that, when I could kiss you instead? You fucking idiot."

"There he is," Steve said, and the warm, lazy smile was the same, too. "Welcome back, Tony." He glanced at the plans Tony had been sifting through, slid a hand to the side of his waist and squeezed. "Can you take a break? Because we could get started now. Or we could have lunch first, because I'm starving."

Tony wrapped his hands around the nape of Steve's neck and clutched. "You're still my favorite," he said, before their lips met.


	5. Epilogue

When Fury got the news from Steve and Tony he squinted at them in turn, and then looked around the table, silently surveying the team. Then he threw up his hands. "Just don't let it affect your working dynamic. I suppose some kind of relationship was inevitable on the team at some point, and Lord knows Mr 'call a press conference and tell the world he's a superhero' is incapable of keeping _anything_ on the down-low."

Natasha looked smug and poked Clint under the conference table.

"Hey," Tony protested. "Did the public find out I'd turned into a woman for three months? No. So there you go."

"I am frankly surprised you didn't turn up in Playboy, Stark," Fury replied.

"I am frankly flattered that you checked," Tony said.

Fury ignored him and brought up a holographic screen. "Okay, we do have _legitimate_ PR activities coming up. I feel like your goddamned social secretary. Hawkeye and Thor -- Bachelor Bid Benefit. I guess these two are off the market," he said, throwing a thumb towards Tony and Steve and Steve colored slightly. "And I know Banner hates that shit. Where is he, anyway?"

"Lab," Steve and Clint said simultaneously.

"I'll cover your bid," Tony whispered to Natasha.

"What is this 'bachelor benefit'?" Thor asked.

"People bid to be your date for an evening and the money goes to charity," Tony explained. "Some rich woman'll snap you up, Thor. Then she'll take you out to Indochine and show you off to your friends and feed you pineapple chunks at the table and try to play footsie."

"Excellent!" Thor declared. "I love pineapple."

"Why can't you all be that easy?" Fury asked. "The rest of you - Ms Potts informs me there's a formal gala next weekend at the Met."

Natasha groaned. "That stopped being fun after the first three. All those boring speeches."

"I have a suggestion, Tony said, waving his phone and hijacking the screen. "There's a charity Stark Industries supports that doesn't really have a public figurehead. Natasha could be in charge of that. It's um..." he tapped and swiped. "Here. They help homeless women and people who've been out of the job market for a while. Makeovers and interview clothes and stuff like that. What do you think?" He nudged Natasha.

"Perfect," she said, a small smile growing as the possibilities sank in. "I could do that. I'll do that."

"Settled," Fury said, looking up to see a projection of the latest Ferrari model rotating in midair. "Quit fucking around with the screens, Stark. We paid for those."

* * *

Would they be here, together like this, if it hadn't been for that ridiculous spell? Tony asked himself that more than once before he voiced the question aloud one night as they watched Charles Bronson ease his way down the tunnel by the pulley again, panicking in the claustrophobic space as he tried to escape Stalag Luft.

"You're definitely the Scrounger," Steve decided, with a little kick against Tony's bare leg. "I'm the Cooler King."

"No way. I'm much cooler than you."

"That's not what it means. And no, you're not."

"But I'm undeniably more insubordinate than you. Quit changing the subject."

Steve looked innocent. "Subject?"

"Would we be together if that hadn't happened?" Tony repeated. "The 'hey, I suddenly have tits' thing?"

"That's a dumb question."

"No it isn't," Tony persisted.

Steve shifted to lean up on an elbow. "Would we be together if I hadn't thawed out after 70 years, or if you hadn't made if out of that cave? No. See?"

"That's completely different," Tony said, rolling onto his back with a groan.

"Not really." Steve said, exasperated. "Things happen and then other things happen. But there's no point in second-guessing fate."

"So you think this was fate? You believe in that kismet crap?"

Steve shrugged. "I ended up in a different physical package once myself, so I kind of have an idea where you're coming from."

"But you didn't change back."

Steve rolled his eyes. "No, I did not, but I'm still the same person I was before, inside. It didn't change who I _am_ , and It didn't change you, either."

Tony looked doubtful.

"But since you brought it up, I like this package, too," Steve said, before leaning in and teasing up the bottom of Tony's t-shirt, pressing his lips, soft and warm, to the muscles of his abdomen, as his fingertips dipped to graze against the front of his boxers.

Tony sucked in a breath. "Quit trying to distract me."

"Okay, pumpkin," Steve said cheerfully, and smoothed Tony's shirt back down, moving away.

"No, don't. I mean, come back here and distract me some more."

Steve grinned. "I knew you were a genius."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "No Ordinary Love by 51stCenturyFox"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6194509) by [PeggyStarkk (LupusUlulans)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupusUlulans/pseuds/PeggyStarkk)




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